


Timeless

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1800s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Jean's immortal and keeps seeing that kid, immortal au, let's find out yo, maybe? - Freeform, we'll see, why does he look the same each time he sees him?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7061038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean makes a stupid decision and reads a spell one the first page on a book he found in the year 1890. But, that doesn't explain why he's seen this guy over a century, yet they where both the same looking as when they first laid eyes on each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timeless

Jean Kirstein was immortal.

Around the year 1890, he made a shit decision to get into witchcraft. He didn’t mean to become immortal, in all honesty. It kind of sucked, being stuck at eighteen years old. On one hand, he could still drink for quite some time. Back in his original time, he could easily swipe the bottles and make a run for it. But now… Now everything was stupid; stupid laws, stupid technology, stupid politics. He just had to have found that stupid spell book and read the first spell on the inside over.

The first few days where quite funny, now that he could look back on them. Jean had read the spell right before passing out in his crappy apartment. He’d stayed like that for two days before waking up with a splitting headache and feeling _really_ hungry. Well, the hunger wasn’t too odd for him back then. He’d ate and the hunger wouldn’t go away as the day went on, but nearing the end of the day, he figured he should have probably translate whatever he said in Latin, considering it knocked him out cold. Of course, it just had to be an immortality spell. Who the fuck puts that on the first page?!

At the moment, he was in the year 1921. He’d quickly adapted over the years to blend in and quickly be able to move if needed. The incident in 1895 was proof enough of the fear of the unknown; he’d almost been burned at the stake because he’d been seen with his book when he first switched towns. 

In all, he was happy to trade those suits and trench coats for a plain button up and a pair of slacks. He still kept living in crappy apartments through the years, and now wasn’t an exception.  The boy had the money saved up to probably be living in a decent house, in a good neighborhood. Yet, did he want to live better was the question. To answer that, it is a plain no. That drew attention.

So he dealt with his shitty situation, and just didn’t talk to _anyone_ if he could help it. He was sure the men down at the dock thought he was mute or something had messed up with his throat.

_Everyone except that fucking freckled kid._

Jean groaned when he was startled out of his thoughts by his alarm to wake up for the day. The joke’s on that alarm, because he hadn’t slept in five days. Not that he even needed sleep for the most part. The boy pushed himself off of the mattress, his joints popping in protest at the sudden movement. He was thankful he hadn’t decided to go to bed in his clothes last night, because he was running low on clean pants and having creases like that in them would mean he’d have to probably get someone to press his pants for him. That meant he’d have to go somewhere other than the laundry matt down the street and the docks. He didn’t like that idea, for the reason of there would be another person that hadn’t seen him before now knowing he existed. Plus, Jean wasn’t too good at playing the part of a gentleman.

The blond yanked his dresser drawer open and pulled out a pair of jeans and an old white button down shirt. After he’d gotten them on and attempted to do something with his hair; which didn’t work, he headed out the door and to the docks. He’d eat something later; it wasn’t like he was going to _die_. Hahaha, great joke, you go Kirstein. Jean smiled a bit to himself at the joke, sticking his hands in his pockets with his keys after locking up his apartment. Not that there was much of _anything_ in there except the necessities he needed to actually pretend he was mortal.

The docks weren’t too far from his house, a little ways past the laundry matt. By foot it would only take him about two minutes to reach them. Yet, Jean was always early. He wasn’t the only morning bird apparently. Every morning he would get there the almost exact time that the freckled boy who was around his age would. Hey, Jean wasn’t complaining about it though.

The guy had to have at least fifty freckles on an arm alone, if not more. He had slightly messy, gelled hair and always wore old white tee-shirts. In the month working there, he’d come to appreciate the view of the freckled man. He could look but not touch, right? I mean, the guy was perfect. He had an easy going attitude, he had legs that could go on for _days_ , he even had the ‘good to bring home to mom’ sticker basically plastered on his chest at this point.

Well, Jean would consider it, if his mother was still alive.

Yet alas, Jean was pretty sure this freckled saint looking boy was strait as a pole, if he had to guess. So no freckled men in Jean’s love life anytime soon. Not that he’d even considered dating or even looked at someone that way in about _thirty one years_. This guy just got his attention, for some reason unknown to Jean. But the blonde didn’t believe for one second that this boy didn’t suspect anything about him. He knew the glances the freckled boy would give him, always like he was trying to figure out something. I mean, he’d only been there for a _month_. Can’t the guy just fuck off and leave him alone? Jean had never spoken in that month of being there; a miracle he’d got the job, and yet this kid was looking at him with these glances and lingering stares that Jean just wanted to turn him into a toad or some shit for. How dare he get under his own skin and make a small shiver want to run through him every time their eyes met?!

Jean was fucked and he knew it.

He knew it as soon as he stepped foot on the docks, the freckled man just a few paces behind him like it was every day. Three steps behind him every day and always would offer to carry the cargo with Jean, making him internally scream ‘LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE YOU FRECKLED GOD.’ There was something off about the guy’s pace in his steps today. Jean would know, he’s been listening to them for the past month every morning; they were always the exact same calculated steps behind him. So that gave him the right to feel _very_ on edge instantly, right?

So when everything else that morning went off without a hitch, it sent off Jean’s radar even more. In that short timeframe, he’d concluded that the man ether had a very sudden slight limp today, or he was up to something he really shouldn’t be. By the time the boss sent them off in pairs, he’d managed to conclude that the man did not have a slight limp. The man’s ~~godlike~~ legs where working just fine. So, then what was this man up to so suddenly?

Jean just pushed that to the back of his mind for now, better for it to stay back there where he won’t be noticed. The blond heaved a large bag of what he think smelled like just plain dirt this time over his shoulder, and began the long day ahead of him as he walked past the freckled brunette and to the front of the dock where this was going to be picked up as usual. When he turned back and started heading back to the dock, those eyes were on him again. Those haunting, chocolate brown eyes were locked onto him; but not discretely as usual. No, the brunette was leaning against the waist high pile of bags they had to move, arms crossed in front of his chest and training another calculated gaze on him.  Jean kept a neutral expression on his face as he approached him again, meeting his eyes with his own calculated gaze.

He hadn’t realized he was leaning up against the bags in a way that prevented Jean to pick any up again until Jean was about a few feet from him. He cocked an eyebrow in question at the man and came to a halt, stopping in front of him just a tad father than an arm’s length away. They stood there for a short while, Jean with his hands eventually back in his jean’s pockets, and Marco’s arms across his chest. Neither of them said anything for that time, well, _Marco_ didn’t say anything. Jean still wasn’t going to talk if he didn’t need to, but the temptation to just spit out ’ _What the fuck do you want from me’_ was strong in that moment. Alas, he apparently didn’t need to, since the freckled guy decided to suddenly start talking.

“You’re not actually mute, are you?” He asked, and Jean’s stare hardened, on the line between the accusing stare he’d been giving him before and a full on glare. The brunette instantly held his hands up as if to say he didn’t mean anything by it, and it was Jean’s turn to cross his arms over his chest and lean his weight onto his other leg, keeping his mouth shut. “I mean, you just come off as not much of a talker, is all.” He said and flashed Jean one of his grins that made him lessen his glare on the man because, god damn, this guy was too attractive for his own good. Should he speak? I mean, this guy wouldn’t tell, right? Maybe? Yeah, he maybe could trust this guy for a few days, he was about to move in maybe a week. The guy wouldn’t know much about him when he finally had to move again, so he didn’t have much to lose.

“I never said I was mute, I never said anything. Literally.” He said, huffing out a small laugh. His voice was a bit rough for what appeared to be an eighteen year old, but not using it for a few weeks does that to you I guess. “I catch your eye or somethin’? You’ve seemed to take a likin’ to me.” He said, shifting his weight again and keeping his gaze locked with the freckled teens, his eyes shifting from a glare to a slightly teasing look in them. Hell, he’s got nothing to lose now, so why not have a bit of fun, right?

The brunette’s face flushed the slightest bit at the teasing tone, but quickly recovered and grinned at him fully now. “Like I haven’t seen the glances you throw at me ether. Marco Bodt.” He said with a small chuckle, pushing himself off of the bags and walking over to him, holding his hand out for Jean to shake; which he did without hesitation. Man, was it nice to not have to wear gloves everywhere like he had to back when he was _actually_ eighteen. “Jean Kirstein.” He said, his rough voice not getting any better, and he guess that it would just stay like this for a few days until he got better with speaking so much. The guy, no, _Marco_ rose an eyebrow at the name and how it was pronounced. “Are you French? You don’t have too badly of an accent, though. You come here a while ago maybe?” Marco asked, and Jean shrugged.

‘About thirty nine years ago...’ he thought to himself, internally rolling his eyes at his own comment. He’d actually immigrated to the Americas with his mom from France in 1882. His dad had died when he was five, leaving his mom and him to go by their selves. “Yeah, I moved here a while back. I’m one hundred percent French blood though. Don’t tell people, wouldn’t want to steal their dames away from them now.” He said with a small chuckle, running a hand through his messy hair and grinning a bit goofily. He was rewarded by a hearty laugh from the freckled brunette, and a grin that matched his own. “Can you say something in French?” Marco asked curiously, and Jean nodded a bit. “Bien sûr, je parle très bien le français , mais je suis un peu rouillé pour être honnête[1].” He said, fluently and gracefully rattling it off like it was second nature; which it really honestly was. Marco looked a bit impressed when Jean just blurted it out, but gave him that same grin that Jean thought would have him dead by the time the week or two was over.

“Anyways, it’s nice to finally fully meet you, Jean.” Marco said, flashing that smile once more to him before finally stepping out of the way for Jean to continue carrying those bags. Damn, in about fifty years he’s going to have a seriously fucked up back. Jean walked up to the bags and hoisted another bag over his shoulder, giving a huff of air at the weight and glancing at Marco once more before heading back down the dock to drop it off, hearing Marco pick up a bag also.

Maybe he’d extend his welcome to this town, because maybe he liked this guy. Marco, with his stupid smiles and stupid tight fit clothes, and ugh. He already liked this guy and he’d only been in this town for a month, going on two. Next week would be the two month mark where he would usually move or change jobs. He’d always get hurt in that time frame; whether it be a small scratch, or a gash in the leg, he’d found out that his healing was faster than a normal human’s. He had gotten a gash on his upper arm last month, and appearing the next day all fine when he should have gotten stitches or at least taken a day off raised a few eyebrows already. Plus, the longer he stayed around this guy, the more he’d probably take a liking to him. That, that wasn’t okay, it was a bad thing to get attached to a mortal and have to watch them grow old without you. No. Bad.

Jean was heading back when Marco set his own bag down, and he heard him jog a bit to catch up with him again. Apparently they weren’t done talking, because the brunette started talking to him again as he fell into step with Jean. “You livin’ here with your family?” The guy asked, raising an eyebrow. The question shouldn’t have stung as much as it should have, honestly. “Nah, my ma was killed in a house fire a while back. Oil lamp turned over and caught the carpet on fire; she was sleeping while I was out with at a friend’s house.” He said with a shrug and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Fuck, sorry man. So you’re living alone, I’m guessing?” Marco asked, and Jean nodded. “You couldn’t have known, so don’t worry about it.” He said. That’d never came up since it’d happened a little after he read that page from the book, and she’d said the day before that she had a feeling something bad was going to happen before he left to go to an old friends house. Of course, being a naïve eighteen year old, he didn’t think anything of it. “How about you, you livin’ alone?” Jean asked and Marco nodded as well. “My family lives in a little town called Jinae, so when I hit eighteen I moved up here to get a job that wasn’t working on a farm.” He replied, a fond smile on his lips by what Jean thought was happy memories of his home and family. “How long have you been here?” Jean asked before he could stop himself, knowing he shouldn’t be as curious as he was about the man beside him. Fucking hell, he was leaving soon anyways. “For a little over a year, I turned nineteen last month. You can’t be much younger than me, yeah?” He replied happily, seemingly satisfied with getting Jean to be a bit curious.  “Yeah, I’m eighteen right now, turning nineteen in a few months.” He lied swiftly, well, it technically wasn’t a lie. He was stuck looking like an eighteen year old for the ‘rest of fucking ever’, as he liked to put it.

For the rest of the work day, Jean chatted with Marco; getting to know each other inside and out. They talked about their likes and dislikes, what their family was like, what they looked for in a partner, and everything else under the sun. With every question they asked and conversation they started, Jean felt himself having a stronger pull towards the man. Hell, by the time all those heavy bags where moved he wasn’t internally complaining like he usually would, and he found that he didn’t mind that his back and muscles would be sore tomorrow for once.

“You want to go out somewhere after we finish up here?” He heard Marco ask, and his eyes shot up in alarm. “Uh… I’m going to have to pass on that. I have to go home and start packin’ up.” He said, offering a small ‘I’m Sorry’ smile. Marco’s face twisted into confusion and he paused where he was laying down the last bag of dirt from his shoulder. “Why are you packin’? You moving?” Marco asked, and Jean nodded a bit, brushing his hands off on his pants. “Yeah, I’m movin’ pretty soon. I guess you can say I don’t like to be in one place very long.” Jean said and Marco chuckled softly with a knowing grin. “Yeah, I can understand. You seem like that type to not want to be tied down.” Marco replied, stretching his arms above his head and Jean totally did _not_ stare at the bottom of his fucking _ripped_ stomach as his shirt rode up slightly. Apparently, he wasn’t so discreet about it because before he knew it Marco had a devilish smirk on his lips and an eyebrow rose at him. Fucking innocent Marco he’d gotten to know over the past day could turn into looking like a fucking _sex god_ with that smirk and spark in his eyes like that. Fucking _hell_ Jean wanted to see more of that side of him, he’d gotten a taste of something he finally found _sexy_ and he couldn’t fucking _have it_. Jean felt his cheeks go a bright red, and he rose a challenging eyebrow right back at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, freckles.” Jean shot at him, a slight teasing tome to his voice. Marco just chuckled a bit, nodding in response. “See you tomorrow, Jean.” Marco said, mimicking his own tone and Jean felt his cheeks flush slightly again.

_Yeah, Jean needed to get out of here as soon as he could._

So, being the guy he was, he called in to quit the job the next day and started quickly packing what he actually had. He couldn’t stay here, and he knew that. He’d already got that warm feeling in his chest that felt like the all too familiar feeling of fondness, and that’s dangerous for him. He’s immortal, Marco was not. He lives forever and never ages, Marco will grow old and die. It wasn’t practical, because this wasn’t a cheesy love story.  Or at least, that’s what Jean kept telling himself. It was safe to just go.

As jean was closing up that final box, he found an old black and white picture from before he turned; before everything went to shit for them. He had no idea where the people in the picture where now. One guy and one girl both his age, the guy having short almost buzzed cutt hair, and the girl having chocolate hair that was always up in a ponytail. They were standing in a line, arms around each other’s shoulders and grinning up a storm. The blond felt a small sad nostalgic smile creep on his face, remembering that day and that moment, everything was perfect for them.

Too bad it couldn’t last.

 

[1] Of course, I speak French very well, but I’m a little rusty to be honest.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this is the result of a few 1AM sleepless nights. So, anything is really possible for this story. Anyways, hope you at least liked my ramblings, so if you did, stay tuned bro.
> 
> Catch you later.


End file.
